For the Love of a Princess
by Code Green
Summary: The Battle for Middle Earth rages in the hearts and minds of those involved. Yet, within the soul of Rohan's greatest warrior, another battle is also taking place, a need for someone to support and uphold. As Aragorn would say, "It is not good for a man to be alone." Yet who, in the midst of great war, could possibly find a place for love?
1. Hour of Rohan

Thank you for all the reviews so far! I apologize that the formatting came out funny. I always have trouble transitioning my Word documents to fanfiction!

Chapter One: Hour of Rohan

Smoke. Screams. Crumbling marble. Helplessness. Hopelessness. Death.

This what hazel eyes saw as they stared across the Pelennor Fields to the falling city of Minas Tirith. It looked, for those who sought to overwhelm and overcome the power of The Ring, that all was lost. Indeed, many of the Rohirrim marveled that there were survivors left to fight for. King Théoden's nephew never let surprise hold fast to his heart, however. Surprise and fear were a waste of precious time unless they were inflicted upon the enemy. And today, they would be inflicted. The enemy would know terror by the hooves of the noble steed. They would know annihilation at the hand of the horse lord. And their master, the dark lord Sauron, would come to a swift and lonely death by the innocent courage of the hobbit. It was all most absurd, but now none of that mattered.

What mattered was defeating the evil that threatened all of Middle Earth like a looming plague of bitterness and hate; destroying the malice that had divided kingdoms and torn asunder truth and light. Many had died, and many more would meet the same fate on this field, but the Riders of Rohan had been trained to obey orders without question, to move into battle without noticeable fear. And noblest of the riders were their horses, trained just as the men had been, just as brave and willing to die for their masters as their masters were to die for their lord and land.

"Éomer. Take your Éored down the left flank."

"Flank ready!" the warrior replied.

His uncle's firm order was met with a call and nod of the head, and Éomer shifted his body just slightly in the saddle. His noble stallion, the envied Firefoot, needed no words, no, hardly even any action, to understand what his orders were. He moved out, cantering, long and lithe before the portion of the army that Éomer was to be responsible for. If anything was certain in this war, if anything ever had been honest and loyal, it was the stallion, and the leader of the Rohan warrior couldn't have been more grateful to be the master of such an animal. Each motion was like the river, smooth and sure, and while Firefoot was eager for battle, indeed, his muscles were tight and drawn as though ready to explode into action at any moment, the animal's nature was calm and attentive to his rider. Truly he was a magnificent beast, floating like a phantom before the army.

"Gamling, follow the King's banner down the center! Grimbold, take your company right, after you pass the wall!"

Éomer's heart threatened to beat out of his chest as he gave last orders to his men and then gave his uncle his fullest attention. The great warrior had seen many battles before. He had fought monsters that, as a child, he hadn't believed existed. He and his army of banished Rohirrim had defeated large numbers of Sauron's cronies, but nothing could compare with the battle that lay before them. They were far outnumbered, but they would not be overpowered, for within the Rohirrim lay a heart that beat so loudly and so powerfully to the rhythm of courage and truth that it would not be deterred nor broken until every last horse and rider had met his death. Countless were the numbers of the enemy, made of Orcks, and men, and their creatures of burden, but they knew not what awaited them in the seemingly small mass of 6,000 horses. They understood not the powerful barrage that would run into their midst, run over and run through them until not a single hoof was left moving. They knew not the power of the Rohirrim.

Ah, but they would know, and a small smile flitted across Éomer's face as an unseen energy flowed through the ranks, binding each man to the other in a harmony of understanding and brothership. Rohan had seen battle before, and she would see it again. Not one rider would turn and flee; not one horse balk or stray.

"Forth, and fear no darkness! Arise! Arise, Riders of Théoden!"

King Théoden's voice nearly trembled with power as he shouted to his most loyal of servants. It struck every man to the core, and an astounding flow of adrenaline raced through Éomer's blood, so strong that his horse danced beneath him. Now was the time. Now would be the greatest war against Sauron that had yet occurred. Now Rohan would rise, rise, rise in the legends and stories of greatness! Here on these fields, beneath the great sky, for all that was good and right!

"Spears shall be shaken, shields shall be splintered! A sword day...a red day...ere the sun rises!"

Spears were lowered, aimed and ready towards the awaiting evil. Everything suddenly was silent, all breaths held in anticipation, all horses still in preparation.

Théoden urged his horse into a smooth canter, floating like air before his troops as his sword was raised high, sliding in encouragement across the prepared spears, an unspoken sign of respect, of honor, and of pride.

"Ride now! Ride now! Ride! Ride to ruin and the world's ending!"

The king's great horse, the mighty stallion Snowmane, pivoted, turning to face the wicked armies that lay before Rohan's best.

"Death! Death! Death!"

The king's cry was echoed in jubilation and power by his men, encouraging their king in return for his encouragement to them, and then Éomer drew in his breath, waiting for the charge, waiting for the call that would send them into a suicidal situation where the odds of winning were horrifically slim.

"Forth Èorlingas!"

The ram's horns were sounded, the only sound heard across the entire field for a few split seconds. The mighty warriors of Rohan felt as though their hearts were about to beat out of their chests as their king moved his steed forward at a walk. Now was not the time to walk, but to run! Let the horses run!

But no, Éomer knew to hold Firefoot back, lest he lose all of his energy and strength before they even touched the armies of the enemy. Now was the time to walk proudly, to follow the king, to remain calm and controlled. Éomer whispered to himself as Snowmane broke into a trot and the other horses followed suit, almost singing to himself the poems that his mother had taught him long ago before she passed on, mercifully spared from seeing these wicked times. The warrior smiled weakly as his horse flicked an ear back to listen to him, though his voice was nearly drowned by the hooves of the thousands around him, was nearly silenced by the pounding of Éomer's own heart and the rugged breath that passed through his lips as he murmured.

"Hast thou given the horse strength? Hast thou clothed his neck with thunder?  
Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshopper? The glory of his nostrils is terrible.  
He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength: he goeth on to meet the armed men.  
He mocketh at fear, and is not afrighted; neither turneth he back from the sword.  
The quiver rattleth against him, the glittering spear and the shield."

The voice of one of Éomer's men spoke loudly from beside him, speaking aloud the poem so that Éomer's men could hear, so that all could find strength in the ancient Scripture.

"He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage: neither believeth he that it is the sound of the trumpet.  
He saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha; and he smelleth the battle far off, the thunder of the captains, and the shouting!"

The horses shifted into a canter, a good, strong canter, and then suddenly they were charging, flying, storming the armies of Sauron with an overwhelming intensity. Now was the time to shout, the time to let power reveal itself in the armies of the horse lords!

The men could contain their energy and adrenaline no longer, and all shouted as one voice as they drew ever closer to the enemy. The galloping of the horses was deafening as the beasts surged forward together like a great wave of the sea, ready to overcome the enemy, to trample them underfoot like the snakes and foul creatures that they were.

And then they were there. Horses slammed into bodies, running them over, jumping and bounding, trampling through the fray, and as Éomer drew back his spear for his first kill, a fire ignited within him. This was it! This was the time of triumph! Rohan would not fail! Now was the hour, the hour of Rohan!


	2. Band of Dol Amroth

I am going to try hard to stick with the book as far as some of the events of this story are concerned, so please forgive me if anything happens to be off! Enjoy! :)

**Chapter Two: Band of Dol Amroth**

Fire. Cries of terror. Explosions of flame. Unbearable heat. Ashes and blood.

These surrounded the small band of humans who had taken the chance of risking their lives to leave the security of Minas Tirith and stand outside her gates. The enemy had already breached the walls, had already broken in, but these twenty warriors had stepped out from behind the wall long before the wall had caved.

Somehow, these few had lasted an entire night of bloodshed and were even now still fighting, though they were coated in blood and weak. They had come to the aid of Minas Tirith even when she had been cruel to them, abandoning them in their times of crisis, but the warriors of Dol Amroth were fast to forgive. Gondor was still their mothering country, despite her corrupted leaders, and so the choice warriors had arrived to do battle when everything seemed so grim.

"The Riders of Rohan!" Cried out the leader of the band, and all heads looked to see the thousands of horses on the horizon, charging headlong into the foe.

"They will trample us!" Came a second call. "They won't stop for us!"

"Then here is where we die!" Shouted out the leader again before he turned his head to look to the soldier who fought valiantly a few yards away from him.

Elphir had brought his men into this battle and he would surely see them through it, though it would mean their deaths, however, he refused to see this particular comrade fall beneath the hooves of the horses or, even worse, beneath the abuse of the enemy. His beloved his sister, indeed, his only sister, was one of Dol Amroth's strongest fighters, and so she had come to this war, though her protective brothers had feared for her. She had stood tall and strong on her own, without protection, during this battle. Even now, her sword was reddened by the blood of the wicked creatures lunging at her. Blood streaked down her soft face, tangled in her waistlong brown tresses, and dripped into her emerald eyes, but she would not yield. Not unless her commander ordered her to retreat...

"Lothiriel! Into the city!" Elphir shouted as the thundering hooves grew ever louder, nearly roaring above the sound of Sauron's army.

She could not hear him. Her lithe body twisted and spun, like a dance, as she slashed her sword through her attackers, her head held high despite her weariness. Her clothes were burnt, and ash covered her fair skin, and yet still, she fought like the bravest of Elphir's men. Terror flooded through her brother as the horses of Rohan became close enough to hear their neighing and screaming, and Elphir fought through the masses of enemies surrounding him, doing his best to get to his sister's safety.

Alas, he didn't have time, for before he could touch her, one of the dragons of the dark lords spiraled out of the sky, its powerful talons closing around the body of Dol Amroth's princess.

"Lothiriel!" Elphir screamed, fighting even harder, but he didn't have a chance to arrive at her side. If that creature killed his sister, if he lost his beloved sister to this bloody war...

The woman didn't hear him but gasped in terror as she was lifted hundreds of feet above the battle field. She knew the habit of these dragons, how they liked to rise higher and higher into the air and then drop their victims, and she thought fast, determined not to let a fall be her fate. She wielded her sword and cut through the claw of her captor, making the beast scream in pain and release her, but before she could drop, she grabbed the monster's leg and then climbed up, moving to stand behind the dark rider. Not allowing herself to be afraid, fueled by adrenaline, she reached for one of the reins, jerking hard on it, making the creature spiral downwards before its rider was able to react.

It was as the cloaked rider turned to her that Lothiriel raced to the creature's tail and then leaped, soaring through the air and praying that something would soften her fall. Whether the answer to her prayer was a good one or not she wouldn't know, for suddenly she slammed into an enormous form, into a creature with immense tusks, and she fell off the animal's side, landing hard in the dirt between the creature's forelegs.

She couldn't see. She could hardly move for a moment. Dirt spiraled up around her, and she was blinded by the substance. Sounds echoed above her miniature twister of ground, sounds of horses screaming, galloping, the trumpeting of the enormous creatures surrounding her, and the cries of men and monsters alike, all in pain, all suffering.

And then the dust cleared, and Lothiriel screamed in terror as the monster above her raised a foot and moved it to smash her where she lay. A spear soared above her head, embedding itself in the creature's leg, and then Lothiriel felt a hand grasping the back of her shirt, jerking her up and into a saddle.

She had never ridden a horse before, but she grabbed hold of the mane before her with a death grip.

"The battle field is no place for a boy to lay down!" A breathless voice shouted from behind her, and she turned her head, wanting to see the face of her rescuer. It was hard to see his face, for beneath the protective covering of his helmet, his face was covered in dirt, blood, and knotted blonde hair. She was able to see his eyes, however, and recognized the look of astonishment that flickered through them.

"It isn't often that a woman fights on the battle field," she choked before gasping as his steed swerved violently, nearly unsettling her. Her legs hadn't the strength to hold on to the horse, and she began to fall off, but a powerful arm wrapped around her center, pulling her back to rest against the hard armor of the Rohan warrior.

"Hold fast to me!" the rider ordered, and Lothiriel wrapped her arms around his one arm, holding tightly as the man raised a sword and slashed left and right, hacking at the monsters that surrounded him on all sides. His horse stumbled then, dropping onto one knee, and Lothiriel found herself rolling harmlessly across the dirt. Her rescuer landed atop her, but now wasn't the time to think of things being inappropriate or to consider royal protocol. He had fallen on her to protect her, and she closed her eyes tightly, burying her face in the steel covering his chest as he knocked their attackers over, fighting from where he lay for a moment before he pulled her to her feet again and dragged her towards his horse.

She couldn't help but scream as an agonizing pain, sharper than a knife, shot through her right leg, and the warrior glanced down to see how her limb moved weakly.

"You have broken your leg," the man spoke and then scooped her up and placed her on his horse again. "Ride back to the walls of Minis Tirith!"

"I cannot!" Lothiriel cried. "I know not how to ride! And I cannot leave you without your horse!"

The man seemed to know royalty when he heard it, for he didn't argue, as most warriors would have, and instead lifted her lightly so that she was sitting behind the saddle rather than in the front of it. He then mounted his horse again and turned his head slightly, shouting so that she could hear him.

"Hold on and keep your face buried in my back! What sort of woman runs out onto a field without armor?"

She would have told him that she had fallen from the sky, but now was hardly the time for that, for his horse put in a burst of speed and soared across the ground, and Lothiriel did as she was ordered to do. She hid her face in the man's armor and kept her arms wrapped tightly around him as he did battle.

The battle seemed to last for forever, and when silence suddenly flooded the field, Lothiriel was so tired and weak that she hardly realized it. Her rescuer dismounted his horse before she could get off, and even as he lifted her and brought her back to the ground, he surveyed her wounds. Surely she must have been beautiful beneath the dirt and blood, but he focused on the task at hand.

She was badly hurt.

"Lothiriel!"

The cry seemed so far away to the princess, and she could not speak as her brother ran towards her, tears of gratitude running down his grizzled cheeks.

"Thank you, sir," the prince spoke to her rescuer even as he took his sister and began to lift her into his arms.

"Wait," Lothiriel gasped softly, unable to speak properly due to her wounds. She tried to move towards her rescuer, but her brother wouldn't allow her, instead gathering her carefully into his arms to carry her.

Her rescuer seemed to know what it was she needed, and he moved to her, putting his gloved hands over her wounded ones.

"Yes?" he asked gently.

"Your...your helmet... Please?"

He nodded and removed his helmet, shaking his head a bit so that his hair would slide out of his face. He had a trim beard and mustache and long gold locks that most women must have wanted to run their fingers through, but Lothiriel thought none of these things as she looked into his eyes. They were hazel, and so full of compassion and kindness, though there was certainly still a fire of adrenaline still there, and Lothiriel felt comforted simply by his gaze. She leaned forward slightly and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek in thankfulness before she was carried away, her brother running to get her to medical attention before it was too late for her.


	3. Halls of Healing

**Chapter Three: Halls of Healing**

Quiet and solitude. Not a sound to be heard. Bright sunlight.

The Halls of Healing in Minas Tirith were terribly crowded. Eowyn had requested, upon awakening when Eomer found her, that she not be given a room of healing for herself, for it would have been selfish to have her own room despite her being nobility. Eomer had heeded to his sister's wishes, though she had been given only one roommate, and that was the severely injured Princess of Dol Amroth. The physicians had come to find, upon the young woman's arrival, that the right side of her body had suffered major injuries, including her broken leg, several cracked ribs, and a broken shoulder blade and arm. It was a miracle, they had told her brother, that her head, neck, and spine hadn't been harmed at all. Elphir hadn't left the young woman's side, save for when she had been undressed for the physicians. He sat by her bed day and night, hoping and praying that she would regain her consciousness and that all would be well for her.

Eowyn recovered swiftly in comparison to the Dol Amroth princess, and she was soon able to move about, visiting with Faramir, the deceased steward of Gondor's son, which often left Elphir and his unconscious sister to themselves. On one such occasion, Elphir was sitting at his sister's side, head bowed and hands clasped together in silent prayer, and there was a light knock on the door.

"Come in," Elphir answered, and the door opened and closed quietly, the prince never turning to see who had entered.

"How does your sister fare?" A deep voice questioned, and Elphir turned his head slightly to see Eomer taking a seat next to him.

"She has not awoken yet, and it has been days. I am greatly concerned."

"Only two days, my friend," Eomer said kindly, putting a hand on Elphir's shoulder. "Your sister had a most trying part in the battle."

"My father will be most upset when he hears what has happened to his only daughter," Elphir sighed.

"I highly doubt that, friend," Eomer chuckled. "There are men lining up outside this room even now wanting to speak to you about your sister's hand. She made quite the impression on the battle field."

"Is your sister healing well, Lord Eomer?" Elphir questioned.

"She is. I do believe the Steward of Gondor's son has his eye closely on her," Eomer nodded.

"I am sorry for the loss of your uncle."

"It was the way he would have wanted to go," Eomer said solemnly. "Your sister," he changed the subject, "has never ridden a horse before."

"The people of my country are not horsemen," Elphir spoke. "And Lothiriel is terrorized by them."

"Really? Why is that?" Eomer asked, shocked.

"The only interaction she has ever had with a horse was when a Dark Rider came into our country," Elphir said quietly. "He rode through one of our towns, causing destruction everywhere he went. He was about to gallop over one of the children when Lothiriel ran into the path and shoved the child out of the way. That left her standing before the demon horse, and it reared, making her fall back. She would have been crushed beneath its hooves, but for some reason the rider pulled the animal back and then they disappeared into the mist."

"That would be terrifying," Eomer mused. "I have a need to prepare for tomorrow's journey to Mordor, Prince Elphir, but here," he reached behind him and held out a small leather sack. "These are apples. If your sister can be brave and go to the stable, I am certain many a horse would appreciate the small gift."

"Thank you, Lord Eomer," Elphir nodded and then watched as the man left the room.

Lothiriel awoke less than an hour later, and great was Elphir's elation when he saw his sister sit up and ask for food. He would have stayed by her side, but as soon as she heard news of the upcoming attack on Mordor, she shooed him out of the room, telling him that he had to train for battle for the both of them. He left her with the sack of apples and Eomer's message, and then hurried out to prepare for another, and hopefully the last, war.

Lothiriel remained in bed for an hour more, sitting alone with her thoughts, and then she pushed her blanket away and shakily got to her feet. The healers had done well to her, mending her leg almost entirely back to the way it was before, though it still hurt to put weight on it, and Lothiriel grabbed her bed frame to keep from falling over. She was dressed only in a long shirt, and not wanting to walk about in such indecency, she reached out for Elphir's long overcoat and pulled it on over the thin material. Silently, she reached out her hand for the package of apples and then slowly made her way out of her room and in the direction that she hoped led to the stables.

"Princess Lothiriel, I had not expected to see you up and moving for some time," A kind voice spoke from a doorway, and Lothiriel glanced up to see Aragorn stepping out to greet her.

"I could not remain in bed," Lothiriel smiled politely. "You'll pardon me, sir. I had thought it was alright for me to walk amongst the great halls of Gondor?"

"But of course, only it wouldn't be right for you to go alone and in pain," Aragorn said gently, and he offered her his arm. "May I bring you to wherever it is you were going, Princess?"

"The stables, please," Lothiriel nodded slowly.

Aragorn smiled then and led her down one hall and then a next until they came to a great flight of stairs that led to the outside. Sunlight was streaming in from the bottom of the staircase, and Lothiriel's hand tightened on Aragorn's arm as he assisted her down the stairs. Every step felt like fire, but she bore the pain well and was greatly relieved when they arrived at the bottom of the stairs.

"I am afraid I missed the greatest parts of the battle, sir," Lothiriel spoke quietly as she was escorted through a vast courtyard. "What happened? Surely, we won?"

"Surely," Aragorn smiled, his whole face lighting up. "We had great victory, all thanks to the Riders of Rohan."

"There was a man, Eomer, he called himself. Was he greatly harmed?"

"No. Not greatly," Aragorn chuckled.

"You are to become king, are you not?" Lothiriel questioned as they stopped at the entranceway to the stables.

"Yes, my lady. And, I apologize for having to leave you here, but I must be moving on to my men. They have training more yet for a great battle."

"Of course, sir," Lothiriel said, curtsying slightly. "Thank you."

Aragorn bowed to her and then left her standing at the doorway.

The princess of Dol Amroth could fight many battles, those of the physical nature, and those of the emotional, but never had she thought that, in standing in such a peaceful place, she would find such terror. She could scent of earth that emanated from the horses within, and she was reminded of the smell of death. A light breeze swirled around her, like that of a gentle wisp of air from her homeland and the sea, but she could think of it only as the hot breath of the monstrous animal that had nearly killed her not so long ago. Her hands trembled as they clutched the sack of apples and she dared to take a step forward. She had to reach out and grab hold of a pillar as terror threatened to knock her to the ground. One of the horses snorted, and she jumped, trembles rippling through her body. She was embarrassed by her fright, and great it was for her that she didn't notice the shadow standing quietly in a corner of the stable, watching the princess with compassionate hazel eyes.

Lothiriel took a deep breath and then another step, and then she froze. She could hear hooves shuffling in the hay, and remembered the nails that spiked out of the dark horse's hooves. Big brown eyes looked up at her, and she recalled the fire that blazed in the evil animal that nearly caused her death. Her lips were trembling and her teeth chattering as she stood there in an aisle of the stable, trying to fight her own inner demons.

And then there was a movement in the corner of her eye, something brilliantly white, and tears of fear danced in the princess' eyes as a magnificent stallion began to move towards her. She couldn't understand why he wasn't in a stall like the other horses, but the animal was huge, magnificent, and terrifying, and it was moving steadily towards her with long strides. Lothiriel's lips parted, though whether to scream or cry out she didn't know, but no sound would come from the back of her throat.

Before she quite understood it, the horse was there, standing inches before her, big eyes scanning her scared features. She would have jumped, was she not frozen, when the animal stretched its nose forward, nuzzling her shoulder slightly, encouragingly. It then kept its head there, resting on her shoulder, letting its warm breath rustle her hair and whisper in her ear. Ever so gently, it nudged her shoulder and then dropped its nose to the package she had, ears perked up and a soft snort coming from its lips.

Lothiriel somehow found the courage to move then, and pulled out one of the apples, holding it out in her trembling hand to the majestic Shadowfax. Daintily, the stallion took the offered apple and then devoured it heartily before stepping forward and standing at her side. Where she found the courage, she could never tell, but Lothiriel put a hand to the snow white mane and let the horse guide her through the barn so that she was able to give each horse one of the small apples that Eomer had left with her.

Only when she came to the last horse did Shadowfax move away from Lothiriel and, with a soft nicker, he turned and made his way out of the stable. Lothiriel was left standing in front of a dapple gray stallion who poked his nose over the stall door and nuzzled her with it, searching for an apple.

"I know you," Lothiriel whispered, taking the last apple out of the sack and handing it to him. "You saved me. Thank you."

Firefoot sneezed, getting some of the apple on Lothiriel's hand, and she laughed lightly before reaching out and rubbing the horse's nose.

"He likes you," A familiar voice spoke, and Lothiriel turned her head to see Eomer approaching her, a serious expression on his face.

"I don't see why. I did not know how to ride him. Surely I gave him great pain," Lothiriel frowned slightly, moving her eyes back to the horse.

"That disappoints you?"

"Yes," she nodded. "I can fight with a sword, I can run countless miles, but I am afraid of a horse and I cannot ride one."

"You did not fall off," Eomer spoke. "That requires skill."

"You held me on. Thank you," Lothiriel whispered sincerely, daring to look up into Eomer's hazel eyes for a moment. "I have heard of the fate of your king. I am sorry. Are you to go to battle with the others in the morning?"

"I am," Eomer nodded. "I came to the stable for peace. The tranquility stills my soul."

"I wish that I could go, but my brothers simply will not let me for this last battle," Lothiriel smiled. "I suppose I understand their concerns."

Eomer was silent, and Lothiriel focused her attention on Firefoot before speaking again, breaking the awkward silence.

"What is to become of Rohan?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"My people were chased out of Dol Amroth," Lothiriel nearly whispered. "Our home was shattered. I do not know what I shall return to. What of you? Your king and your prince were violently taken away. I am certain your lands were spoiled as well. What is to become of your kingdom?"

"I suppose it shall be needing a new king."

"Will you be the king?" Lothiriel questioned.

"I do not know. It is yet to be discussed," Eomer smiled. "So concerned for a country that is not your own, Princess?"

"I am sorry," Lothiriel blushed slightly. "Politics are ever foremost on my mind. It is why my brothers bring me with them wherever they go. I can speak to leaders and dignitaries when they would often rather fight."

"That is a grand skill to possess," Eomer smiled. "Tell me, would you care to ride Firefoot for a few moments?" He gestured to his horse. "He is gentle and you would have no need to fear."

"I thank you, but no. I am afraid I am not quite dressed..." Lothiriel trailed off as she glanced down at her apparel, and then a bright blush spread across her cheeks. "I am not dressed appropriately at all."

One of Eomer's men entered the stable at that moment, his eyes set on his leader.

"Eomer, we have a meeting with the other leaders in a matter of minutes. We certainly need you there, sir."

"I will be there in a moment," Eomer nodded, waving his hand in dismissal. "It is good to see you have healed well, Princess Lothiriel."

He then bowed to the princess and made his way out of the stable.


	4. Notes from Code Green

Hello All! Sorry to interrupt this story, but I needed to make a statement! :) I have somewhat of a confession to make, I am afraid. I had originally intended to have this story work with the Lord of the Rings books, but seeing as I am a new mom and am horribly procrastinating at working on any of my actual published books, I am going to have to simply base this fanfiction off of the movies. I apologize for any of you who may be upset with that. Nosmaeth, especially, I thank you sincerely for your review that pointed out to me that this story isn't quite at all with the books, and I apologize if you were hoping that it would be more accurate! If any of you are still interested in my attempts to write a fun fanfiction based off of characters that were in the books but not in the movies, then hope remains! Haha. I am currently working on chapter four and appreciate all of your reviews and all of your patience. God bless!

Code Green


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